The Beginning: A Tale of Two Parts
by 14tara14
Summary: All things must start with a beginning. Some are soft, secretive, developing before we've even noticed their start. For Shikamaru, His was a beginning having grown from the bud of a single thought. Her.
1. Chapter 1

What originally started as a response to a prompt to just describe a color without using it in the description, developed into a 300 word poem, which in turn evolved into this weird yet intriguing thing. I know I've been away from writing for a while, and I should get back to A Restless Resolve, but I thought I'd use this as my gateway back to these characters. It's short, and there is still a second part to come, but until then I hope you enjoy what I have written. I would love to hear your thoughts.

Extra note, I now have a tumbler. Here's the link. There you will find not only some of my original writings, but future snippets of the book I have been writing this past year, as well as other fanfic related dabbles as they arise.

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The Beginning: A Tale of Two Parts

Part 1

When his eyes first met hers, he was reminded of the color of spring. She had a look of a budding bloom too timorous still to blossom. He noted how she hung herself in a way that kept her in the shadows; had eyes like a meadow and a voice without ground enough to stand. He played with the idea of taking her hand. But then the school bell rang and he turned away.

Each day after that passed much in the same way.

In class, as the other children around him screamed and cheered, she sat up front – a silent statue – while he lazed blissfully in the back. As the teacher spoke, providing instructions on chakra, the three types of jutsu and more, his head rested atop the desk, eyes barely kept open. Hers remained held high, a glowing flicker of something light tugged at the edges of her lips as her hand moved with each word. She had the kind of rapt attention he couldn't fathom. So, he would turn away; let his eyes focus on the color of freedom as it gently floated in the breeze.

For a while, the years passed by in much the same way; although, not entirely unchanged. He contented himself with an unaltered routine of evasion: the evasion of work, the evasion of responsibilities, and most importantly, the evasion of all things noisy and bothersome. She bloomed. Away from the shadows and into the light, he watched at what was once flickering sparks grow into a flame. Listened as the ground raised up to make the world her personal stage. She took to it like a bird to the air. She made friends. Laughed. Crafted an enemy of a friend over childish notions of first love. He wanted to scoff, to turn away. But, as his eyes met hers once more, the echoes of the world around him fell silent, and he heard the color of the noise that flickered and hummed like static inside his head; like the shade of her teeth, which peak between parted lips as they curved with joy. He let his eyes linger, not quite ready to let that inexplicable feeling go.

Chunin exams. Suddenly the world was no longer something easily ignored. Suddenly there were consequences. Like now, with him in the shadows and her on the field; her hands' trembling with the weight of everything she had to loose lying behind her. Stinging trails of blood and shallow pants filled his vision. He counted the odds. Evaluated his position. It only took seeing her crouched in the soil in a final attempt not to give ground for him to make his decision. With his team beside him, he fought. They got the upper hand, but that hardly mattered when he saw the eyes of her teammate as he woke. Saw the fear in hers as it ate away the relief. Standing down, they waited for the battle to be won. But he, well, he watched as the flavor of hatred took root in the eyes of her comrade. Listened to the screams of what was previously an enemy turned into a victim. Suddenly, the hum was back; only now it was a color with a whole new shape. His mouth filled with the taste of rust as the air around him stilled. Just as quickly as it came, however, it left. For, unlike him, who sat frozen with disbelief, she pushed herself forward. Her arms became a spell as they shattered whatever curse her comrade had over him. Mesmerized, he watched her pull back the darkness, uprooting the hatred and the cold with a single plea.

"Stop, please."

And just like that, it was over. Only, it wasn't. Not for him, and especially not for her.

More time passed until eventually, she found herself back at the beginning. Alone. One teammate having fled towards the enemy, the other having left to obtain the strength to bring him home. Even her teacher, a man meant to lead her to be something more turned his back, re-joined the ANBU while he waited for his real students. Students that were not her. Shikamaru clenched his teeth. She deserved more; but, before he could offer her a door, he watched, dumbfound, as she smashed the walls apart.

When he had first met her, he remembered how she reflected the same feelings as spring. He recalled the way she had the look of a budding bloom too timorous still to blossom… how she hung herself in a way that kept her hidden within the shadows. Now, well, she was no longer spring. No longer something new waiting for permission to begin. Shikamaru witnessed the flame that was Sakura erupt into that of a roaring blaze. Without a moment's hesitation she convinced the Hokage to take her as her apprentice. Trained not only in the art of healing but that of war. For the first time in her life, it was she who was in control. And for the first time in his, the shadows no longer held the same kind of pull. Making a decision, Shikamaru took a step forward, knowing he could no longer be satisfied with merely watching from the sidelines. Not anymore.

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Please let me know what you think. Part 2 is on its way. Cheers!

Extra note: since this was originally based off describing a color, that color is a theme throughout this work, lets see if you can guess which one it is.


	2. Chapter 2

The End: A Tale of Two Parts

Part 2

It started out small; nods turned into faint hellos and brief smiles sent from opposite ends of halls. It didn't take long for him to start seeing the cracks. See the façade for the trap she had laid to keep those with prying eyes away. The truth of the matter being she was far from okay. He noted the stiff frame. Always ready to run. Hooded eyes flickered with the knowledge that something was still to come; a final shoe to be dropped. She kept at an unrelenting pace, forbidding herself to stop. All the signs of a person about to be burned by the torment of their own design pointed at her. Not pointed; screamed. Screamed with a desperate demand to be seen. Yet, no one heard. No one but him looked long enough to see the chinks that shuddered and clinked with every step as she unraveled within the confines of her own head. Like today, with the way she stood before him with smiles of reflected glass and barbed eyes. She spoke of those that would direct his attention from her: told him news of Naruto and his training and of Ino and her progress. He'd reply with a smirk; a dry comment or two about the troubles of fools left to work. She laughed, eyes tightening like a noose wanting to hang herself with. He found himself reaching for her face; callused thumbs swept across delicate skin because her laughter sounded disconcertingly like crying.

Under his hand, she froze.

Under her stare, he melts, speaks the only words he can find to tell her how he felt.

"Stop. Please."

And so she did.

It started off small, like the fading in of gentle music. He'd wait for her on the sidewalk at night when she finished her shift. Sometimes, he'd even find her waiting for him. It was a waltz, each tentative step being a new way to move forward. She showed him the merit of not wasting his own time, gotten him to apply himself beyond the minimal requirement. He forced upon her the value of taking breaks. He taught her how to play Shoji. She taught him what it felt like to lose. The first time it happened he looked at her with such bewilderment she broke out in a smile so beguiling he could do nothing but stare. That night was the first night she laughed. Laughed like she meant it, like there wasn't some unforeseen force ready to drown her at any minute. It was the first time he thought of her as beautiful. And so the music continued to play.

Season's changed and small things grew. Sakura became stronger, developed a power that could heal those as easily as could be shattered. Shikamaru took over the Chunin exams. Watched his teammates and friends be promoted with silent joy. Saw fences mended as rivals banished past grudges held on solely from pride. Together, they became the shoulders the other leaned on to keep moving forward. Shikamaru no longer went to the hospital when injured on missions, instead, he'd go to her. As he would reveal his fears, she'd listen, gently fitting back the pieces until he again felt whole. He became the harbor she'd run to when she was at risk of drawing in her own mind. For every mistake she made, for every life she lost on a table he would be there to remind her of all the ones she had successfully helped survive. Together, Sakura became more like herself again. Shikamaru grew into something new.

As winter came and the snow fell with the subtle grace of unspoken things, Shikamaru pulled together enough courage to offer up his hand. Sakura didn't even pause as she accepted it. Cold fingers wrapped firmly around his, siphoning the warmth willingly given. She radiated with the hew of winters glow, so soft and gentle and entirely her. He wondered at all the unspoken words falling before him.

Wanting.

Not yet willing.

When Naruto came back, he brought with him the weight of a left behind promise. A change. With clenched fists, skin pulled tight, Shikamaru walked home; wondered at the foolishness of lost time. When he saw her though, standing, Shoji board under one arm with the other up high, waving, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. When she reached out her hand, offering a smile like that of rushing water after months stranded in desert planes, he took it. Caught in her light, he saw the color of stillness that settled between them, the knowledge that they wouldn't step back; that theirs was a dance only in its first half of the beginning. No longer unwilling, Shikamaru vowed to stop holding back.

When Sakura returned from the land of hidden sand, covered in scars, uniform torn, it took everything in Shikamaru's power to remain impassive as stone. He listened to her tale, kept his hands at his side as his eyes counted every mark not yet fully healed. With heaving sobs, she told him of the puppet master, the poison and of Chiyo.

Chiyo.

Dead.

Sacrificed so that Sakura could live.

Sakura.

With heavy steps, Shikamaru paced his room with those words spinning around in his head. Not again. Not again would he allow such a possibility to become a threat. It took him weeks. Nearly two months to get his clan to agree. But no sooner had they given him their blessing did he grab her hand. Startled eyes captured in the swirling gravity of his unblinking stance, she followed without a word. He led her through his land, to a building accessible only to leaders of the Nara Clan; and now her. Amongst the scrolls and the books, Sakura gasped. With trembling fingers, she brushed along the titles of tombs she would have sold her soul for the chance to obtain.

Anthology of poisons

Creation Rebirth

Heart trapped in her throat she turned. When she had first met him, she was reminded of the color of the wind. He had the look of a shifter to be left to his shadows. Never one to be rattled, he had a way in finding the calm despite the storms. Now, as the tendrils of dust drifted around his head she saw something new. Soft eyes stared back seeking out the calm within the havoc as everything inside her threated to crack.

Always soft.

Always kind.

Stepping forward, eyes like a jungle, Shikamaru held his breath as Sakura laced her fingers through his hair. Entangled in her vines he surrendered.

It started with a kiss, with the touch of soft lips as they basked in the other. A color of bliss rooted with a twist that could be found in her every smile. Or in the lightness in his heart as they spend hours together; planning a future he couldn't wait to share. It evolved with time as they learned the steps of this new dance they eagerly shared. It didn't matter how much they stumbled. They took each fumble with the grace of those just trying to do better. Become something better. When Shikamaru was with Sakura he always felt something better. Like with the sound of her laughter, the crisp tinkle of her voice that with a feathered subtlety swept away every anxiety, every fear he could have. He knew he could never fear anything so long as she was near. So, he would clasp her hand, where the color of endless possibilities leaked between them like sand.

It was not colorless, not like the days of the past feel to you now; and its perfection did not stem from some idealistic personification of purity, but in the work, they both duly kept to so to preserve its integrity. When the war came, when lines were drawn and sides were to be chosen, Shikamaru held no fear. He was strong. But she was stronger. Together, with each of their teams now whole, with the arrival of a lost comrade now found, he knew there was no force alive that could take them down. Not now. So when the battled raged and the war calls were cried Shikamaru didn't even hesitate to move forward. Neither did she.

They fought

Blood spilled and lives were lost.

Not once though, did he think about her.

She was strong.

She was so strong.

She was…

Once the battle had been considered won, Shikamaru looked around. Amongst the sea of pain, he searched for the hint of spring he so desperately craved. When he saw her laying on the ground, however, her body half buried beneath a partially collapsed wall, he saw the color of terror as it ripped his breath from his lungs and turned his veins cold. It took root, transmuted into the space between each step as he pushed himself forward. Became the prier he begged God to listen to. By the time he reached her, it was the pallor of her skin, the stillness of things that should have been there but weren't. When Shikamaru reached to grasp her hand, it was the color of his knuckles pressed tight like the knot twisting in his throat. As there was no response, however, it became the color of his scream, unwilling to let go.


End file.
